Chapter 10 — The One Who Counts Bridges

Three survey vehicles parked one after another on the mudflats at 6:30 a.m. Linh An did not bring the storage device to the Infrastructure Department as requested, but she promptly printed three A2-sized maps at the cooperative, each marked with a different type of line. One records the structural span, one records the human path, the third records the water line.

Khai carries a mechanical gauge and seat belt. Yen carries a paper notebook, no recorder. Tung was wearing a tool backpack and said he only went because he needed to keep the ruler from being taken by mistake. No one believed him, but no one sent him back.

“We only measure from the outside,” Linh An said. “Do not enter the fenced area without permission.”

Khai looked at the corrugated iron fence extending under the bridge. “You said that many times today.”

“Because we need to live to use the results.”

“That is progress.”

They started from the male abutment, using a steel ruler to measure the distance between the anchor marks. The main bridge has nine large spans, but on the east side there is a circular foundation that is half buried by soil. Khai dug with a small shovel, revealing the arc-shaped concrete edge. Linh An compared the curvature with old drawings.

“What rhythm does this foundation belong to?” Yen asked.

“Not in the nine main rhythms.”

“It could be a temporary foundation.”

"A temporary foundation is still a foundation. There must be a record of dismantling it."

Tung walked around and discovered that under the grass there were reflective stakes placed evenly spaced. He measured the distance and read the numbers written on the back: 1, 2, 3, then missing 4, then 5, 6, 7. The stakes led to a step sunk in the mud, leading up to the old warehouse.

“This way,” he called.

Khai did not step right away. He used a metal detector to check the step surface, then tied the safety rope to the stake. The rain a few days ago made the mud slide, but the underlying structure is still strong. They went down one by one, Linh An went in the middle, Yen went last to mark the mark.

The old warehouse no longer has a door. The inside was empty, with only steel shelves and a removed electrical panel. On the wall, black paint marks ran in thirteen strokes, but the number 4 was scraped so deeply that the brickwork was exposed. A new chalk line connects the wall to the floor, like an arrow leading into the next room.

“Not in my drawings,” Khai said.

“Because the drawings say the warehouse is one room.”

Tung knocked on the back wall. Hollow sound. He bent down, found a tile of a different color and lifted it up. A space wider than a hand was revealed, containing steel pipes, cables and an old sensor box.

Linh An read the label: "Moc-07 measuring station".

Khai held the box and looked at the connections. “This is the water level sensor.”

"In the list, this equipment has been transferred to Ha Luu Technical Services Company," Yen said.

“It's still here.”

Linh An checks the serial number. Coinciding with the Thinh device line. She didn't take out the box, she just took pictures with Khai's camera after asking everyone's permission and clearly stating the location.

The sound of a car backing up echoed outside the fence. They heard Sang calling for security. Khai immediately turned off the light.

“Someone came in,” Tung whispered.

Linh An used a pencil to mark the location of the box on the map. “We go out at the old level.”

“Not in time,” Khai said. “They're right at the door.”

The warehouse has a drainage slot leading down to the canal. Khai measured with his eyes and found that it was large enough for Tung but not enough for him. Linh An took off her bag, pushed the map into her shirt, then got in first. Khai held her feet, Yen followed. The cold water covered her wrists, and the smell of mud and garbage made it hard to breathe. Above, the sound of shoes running across the warehouse floor.

Tung went last. He turned to pick up the sensor box, but Khai pulled his hand.

"Cancel."

“It is proof.”

“Evidence is not worth a broken ankle.”

They escaped to the manhole below the bank, where it was hidden by wild trees. Yen Scratched her wrist, Linh An lost a pencil. The sensor box is still in storage, but the photo and serial number are saved on Khai's camera.

“We're not allowed in,” Yen said as she caught her breath.

“Yes,” Linh An replied. “And they knew we were in.”

A construction site loudspeaker broadcasts a notice asking unauthorized people to leave the area. Sang then said through the loudspeaker that a group of people arbitrarily broke in, endangering the workers.

Yen looked at Linh An. “They will tell first.”

“We tell the right part of what we do.”

At the cooperative, Diem checked the photos. The photo data of Khai's camera remained intact, but the serial number file was opened with strange software after the camera was plugged into the station's computer. Yen immediately disconnected the network and copied the photos to an optical disc.

“No one plugged it into the computer but me,” she said.

“Someone used the USB port before I got back,” Diem replied. “This is a radio, many people come in and out.”

Linh An looked at the access time. 9:17am. Same time as the other times.

“It can't all be coincidence.”

“Not random doesn't mean it's the same person,” Diem said.

They make a record of the serial number, sensor box location and access conditions. Yen called an independent construction inspector named Thuan, who had worked with the old measuring station system. Thuan arrived in the afternoon, bringing a magnifying glass and appraisal papers.

“Sensor Moc-07 belongs to the city's flood measurement network,” he said after seeing the photos. “If it is still active, data can be stored in the internal memory.”

“Who has access?”

“Operating unit.”

“Engineering company?”

“According to the transfer papers, yes.”

“What if the equipment is in the warehouse but not on the list?”

Favorable paper folding. “Then the list is not truthful or the warehouse does not belong to that unit.”

Linh An asked if he could confirm that the photo was not edited. Thuan said he can only confirm the displayed information, not the storage chain without the original device.

“It all comes back to timestamps,” Yen said.

“Time is part of the evidence, not the whole thing,” Thuan replied. “To prove it, there must be many independent sources pointing to the same thing.”

Linh An looked at the three maps on the wall. Structure, people's path, water line. Three different layers lead to the old warehouse.

Minh called at 4 o'clock. He asked Linh An to come to the Infrastructure Department again, saying the internal inspection session needed adjustment. She turned on the speaker for Khai and Yen to listen.

“I want to confirm that a flood measuring device is in the old warehouse,” Linh An said.

Minh was silent for a few seconds. “That equipment has been disposed of.”

“The Moc-07 serial number is still intact.”

“Where did you get the information?”

“From crime scene photos.”

“You entered a restricted area.”

"You can make a record of the behavior. But the device is still there."

“You don't understand material management rights.”

“You don't understand the rights of water.”

Minh lowered his voice. "Miss Linh An, I know you want to save your father's name. But this case cannot be resolved by putting everyone in the same courtroom."

"I didn't push anyone. I just noted who was standing where."

"Do you know what pressure Huy is under? The project has been disbursed, if it stops, workers will lose their jobs, the bank will call for a guarantee."

“If we don't stop, people will lose their way.”

“A temporary way.”

“One way kept people alive during the collapse that year.”

Minh sighed. “You are young.”

“Have you used that phrase with my father?”

“Your father is not young.”

“So what sentence did you use?”

“I told him to sit down.”

The call ended. Linh An looked at Khai. He is tightening the seat belt.

“Mr. Minh is right about one thing,” Yen said. "If the project stops, many people will lose their jobs. But that is not the reason to hide the sensors."

“Huy won't let us take the equipment,” Khai said.

"We won't take it. We need the authority to seal it."

"Who?"

Linh An called Inspector Thuan. He said it is possible to submit a petition for inspection, but the process takes at least a week. Water levels are forecast to be high in the next five days because of low pressure at sea.

“One week is not enough,” Linh An said.

“I know. But doing it wrong will cause the results to be invalidated.”

Yen opened the paper recorder and said: "We need both: official petition and field protection."

Tung stood near the door, listening to everything. “What if they carry the sensor box first?”

No one answered. He pulled his backpack onto his shoulder.

“I know the way to the warehouse.”

“You can't go on your own,” Linh An said.

“I didn't say I would go on my own.”

“Tung.”

“If adults keep waiting for papers, people will move things by car.”

Khai put his hand on his shoulder. “We don't use children as intruders.”

“I'm not a child when you need me to crawl through the sewers.”

The words made the whole room silent. Khai withdrew his hand.

In the evening, Yen released an update, only saying that photos of the scene showed that a flood measurement item had not been inspected by an independent agency. She did not mention a specific location. The Infrastructure Department sent a response, confirming "no operational equipment was lost".

Linh An heard that sentence and looked at the photo of the serial number on the paper.

“They didn't say the device didn't exist,” she said.

“They said it doesn't work,” Yen replied.

“So we have to check the memory.”

Khai looked at his watch. 9:17 a.m. “Tomorrow Huy will carry it away.”

“Are you sure?”

"A person who wants to hide something should not leave it where someone else has found it."

Linh An took a new pencil and drew on the map a line from the old warehouse to the riverbank. There is a side door leading to the cargo area, but this is not on the traffic map.

“We won't take the box,” she said. “We will make it impossible to move it in silence.”

"How?" Yen asked.

Linh An looked at the map layer on the wall. “Count those who know.”

The next morning, before they went to the yard, a cooperative employee discovered that the file warehouse had been opened. All the paper copies of Bridge Seven still exist, but the map page with the connection has been replaced with a blank sheet of paper.

On the white paper there was only one black paint mark: thirteen strokes, missing the number four.